Snippet #1522288

located in District Delta, a part of Revelation: The Cure, one of the many universes on RPG.

District Delta

Poorest district in the city, home mostly to magi, criminals, industrial workers, and the homeless, as well as most of the city's factories.


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Stupid, stupid, she was so stupid! She had wards designed and cast for this sort of thing, and if she'd just remembered to reactivate them after she let Professor Windsor through, they'd be holed up safe in a completely impenetrable house with shields over every window, door, and decently-sized rat hole. But no, she had thought that surely nothing would happen in these few minutes on this particular day, and she had not wanted to make her teacher uncomfortable by activating magic of a complexity resolved for fortresses and buildings with more important people in them.

And now she was paying for it, but not just her. That was the worst part, that her foolishness had put someone else in danger too. Pandora concentrated a shield and threw it against one of the assassins, pinning her to the wall. It would not last forever, though, and she carefully stepped over the shattered remains of what had been her only un-mangled teacup. She darted out the door, but not before she attempted to push professor Windsor out first. "Wards- keep them trapped!" As soon as both of them were out, she muttered the words and watched as the doorway sealed over with translucent blue-white light. Unlike the spells that magi slung around in a fight, these were sustained, and would last until she removed them, or the energy sustaining them ran out.

The second wouldn't happen for a few hours, yet, but she didn't want to take any chances. Well, that wasn't exactly true- what she wanted to do right now was to lean against the side of her house and try to steady her racing pulse, but she didn't have the time for that right now. "I'm very sorry, professor, but those two came to kill me, and I think it might be best if you came with me to the Guild. I need to tell Sir Amon what just happened." The strangeness of the fact that she referred openly to the most enigmatic figure in the city, a man who for most people was somewhere between rumor and reality, with casual familiarity, was lost on her, but she did know that the man beside her had little reason to be happy with her right now.

"I would tell you everything, but that would only be more dangerous for you," she continued sincerely. "But I think... they saw you, so you might want to stay somewhere safe until they've been caught. The guild is safe, I can promise you that." Assuming he would see her logic and follow (probably not the safest of assumptions, but then she didn't really know that), Pan led the way through the maze of Delta streets, over the crossing and into Gamma, flitting about at a pace that might have been difficult to match were she not so small.

The building she stopped in front of was large and obviously important, but bore no other distinguishing features. It could have been anything, but it wasn't. The only thing it was was the headquarters of several of her closest friends and the man that she personally thought watched over all of them like some kind of boundlessly patient father-figure. Some might have been disquieted by the notion; Pandora found it nothing short of comforting.

Her passage here had not been unobtrusive, exactly- she had intentionally gone by several checkpoints that would alert the watchmen to her presence, and they all recognized her well enough by now. The strained look she wore was probably enough to suggest that not all was well, and indeed Amon himself was on the ground floor when she entered. "Another attack?" he asked quietly, and she nodded.

"I um... I trapped them in my house. Wards. I'll have to go back and release them so that whoever you send can get in."

The Assassins' Guild

Zade realized that she had unconsciously shifted her body language to something closer to intimidating than neutral, and wondered at that for a moment. She had not meant to do so; perhaps it was an unconscious instinct of some kind. She was a bodyguard now, after all, it only made sense that she should be good at it. Even so, because it had not been her intention, she forced herself to relax, though she could do nothing about the sharpness of her stare. The color of her irises was rather disconcerting at first, something she played to her advantage whenever possible but was just inconvenient otherwise.

Forgefire... she was certain she'd heard that name before, and Victoria's outburst was enough to confirm it. The smith. Zade's own preferred weapons were... unusual, to say the least, and most smiths did not make them. She had no idea if this one did or not; both her rope dart and her bladed ring were inheritance from her days with the troupe. The man who'd taught her to use them to perform had not told her where they were made. She had since discovered that there were a few too many similarities between her act and fighting for it to be pure coincidence, and so she had no doubt that they were the work of a weaponsmith, and a good one, but she didn't know who. One of many things that Amshel had not specified.

When he mentioned looking for a specific Glashkov title, Scheherazade shrugged. "If it's not that one, the others are two rows back, middle of the shelf, I think." She spent quite a bit of time in here, and those texts happened to be alphabetically close to works by Florina Golburn, who had much interesting work with pyrotechnics and combustion mechanics, something Zade had a personal interest in.